


Azumane Asahi's Big Gay Romance

by jibrailis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibrailis/pseuds/jibrailis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The air-con gets cranky, Asahi gets a job, and Nishinoya gets his man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Azumane Asahi's Big Gay Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dfabnoya (chopstickkind)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chopstickkind/gifts).



When Noya comes out to the team, the air conditioning system in the gym makes one long impassioned wail at the top of its lungs and then proceeds to break down. Honestly, Asahi doesn’t know which he’s more distracted by: the fact that Noya just cheerfully confessed he likes to make out with guys behind the school bleachers, or the high-pitched death knells of their murdered air-con.

All right, that’s a lie, Asahi is totally more distracted by _the thought that Noya makes out with random guys behind the school bleachers, oh my god_ , but he pushes that to the back of his mind and joins the team as they investigate the air-con.

“Definitely broken,” Coach Ukai says, giving the thing an aggressive kick, unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. Asahi wants to tell him that maybe smoking in front of a bunch of high school students is a bad idea, but Daichi, team dad, beats him to it.

“Chill out, I’m not actually smoking it, am I?” Coach Ukai says, but he looks mildly chastened and tucks the cigarette into a pocket. He gets down on his haunches and peers at the air-con. “Anyone know how to fix this thing?”

“Oh! Oh! Me!” Hinata says. “My dad owns an air-con company.”

Coach Ukai waves at the box, all _go ahead, princess_. Hinata bounds forward, starts poking his fingers into the air-con, and Asahi’s just about to say something else, something like “you should be careful, Hinata-san, it's hard to do quick decoys if you got no fingers” when the machine makes one last burble. Daichi grabs Hinata’s hand out of the air-con and yanks him backwards so hard Hinata falls onto his ass on the floor.

“Ow,” Hinata says. 

“Don’t do unnecessary things,” Kageyama snaps.

“I’m not! I’m trying to do a very _necessary_ thing!” Hinata protests. He’s still on the ground, but he crosses his arms. “Well, it’s broken. Junk. Smashed. Nada. I don’t think even my dad can fix it.”

“It’s fine,” Suga says. “I don’t think we ever really used the air-con anyway. Should we go back to Noya? He was telling us something important.”

“Oh yeah,” Noya says. “Nah, I think you guys already got the gist of it. I like boys, I like kissing boys, and I hope it’s not gonna be a problem.” He peers at each of them in turn. Suga and Daichi shrug like it’s no big deal to them, Tanaka is actively giving him two thumbs up (“goooooooo Noya!”), Tsukishima looks like he ate five meat buns in a row and is faintly constipated, and Kiyoko is staring thoughtfully into the distance. 

“Sorry Kiyoko-san, for hitting on you so much,” Noya tells her. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Mm,” she says, and then surprises them all by reaching out stiffly and patting Noya on the back. “It’s okay.”

“You’re the coolest person in the world, senpai,” Hinata says, and Noya laughs, grabbing the kid by the cuff and ruffling his hair. Asahi watches them while feeling like his stomach is trying to eat itself.

“That’s what I like to hear, ha ha ha!” Noya declares.

“I bet you could teach classes on kissing boys!”

“That’s right!” Noya says. “I bet I’m the best at it in all of Karasuno!”

“I bet you’d win the Boy-Kissing Olympics!”

Asahi is often baffled by his teammates, by their loud voices, their weirdness, and their delusional belief that 1) Noya being gay means nothing changes, and 2) that they can live without functional air-con. Both presumptions are vastly incorrect because Noya being gay changes everything, if only for Asahi, and it’s also high summer, which means two weeks later they’re all spread out on the gym floor like amoebas, their sweaty shorts sticking to their thighs. Noya is lying stacked on top of Tanaka until Tanaka finally shoves him off with an elbow.

“Ugh, I love you, buddy, but you’re sticking to me like gum, and it’s way too hot for that,” Tanaka says.

“Ugh,” Noya says in response. “Too hot.”

“I think I’m going to die,” Yamaguchi whispers.

“I think we’re all going to die,” Asahi says, “and then everybody else will ask ‘what’s that horrible smell coming from the gym?’ and then they’ll come and find a pile of our rotting bodies, and they’ll be sorry we never won Inter-High because we’re dead.”

“That’s really fucking specific,” Noya says, “but also 100% true.”

Heat makes Asahi morose. He’s not built for this kind of oppressive humidity where his head is cottony and his body feels like it’s moving through miso paste. His hair weighs a thousand pounds tied against the back of his neck. He contemplates cutting it off. Heat, however, makes Daichi manic, because he sits up straight and says, “No more whining, team! If the school isn’t going to pay for a new air-con, we’ll raise the money ourselves. Come on, we need an idea. We need game plans. We need _jobs_.”

“We need ice cream,” Tanaka interrupts.

“Oh my god,” Asahi says, “ _yes_.”

 

* * *

 

Sitting around a table at the first ice cream shop they stumble across, Daichi’s strategy becomes clearer. He scribbles it out on a piece of paper.

“If we each get an after-school job and work a couple hours a week, and the job pays at least minimum wage, then we should have enough for a new air-con system in no time at all.” Daichi looks very satisfied with himself.

“How can we work after school and still have time for volleyball practice and homework, though?” Suga asks.

“Obviously volleyball is still our number one priority,” Daichi says immediately. “No slacking off. We can work weekend shifts if we need to.”

“Yeah, but…” 

“You really think all of us can find part-time jobs?” Tsukishima cuts in. He looks at Noya, and then Tanaka, and then Kageyama and Hinata before giving up and just waving his hand to indicate general unemployableness. “Good luck with that.”

“We have to try,” Daichi says firmly. “Some of us will be better at it than others, but don’t we owe it to ourselves not to pass out from heat stroke during practice? Not just us, but don’t we also owe it to future generations of Karasuno volleyball players? This is our gift to them.” He jabs his pen into his notepad. Some team members seem surprised by this departure from the usually calm Daichi, but Asahi’s seen this side of his friend many times before. This is the Daichi that dragged him out to hunt frogs in the pond when they were eight years old, and wouldn’t let either of them go home until Asahi fell onto the pond and nearly drowned with a mouthful of amphibians. 

“Plus we’ll do other things to raise money besides just part-time jobs,” Daichi adds. “We can do car washes, bake sales, all that good stuff.”

“I can make a really good brownie,” Yamaguchi says.

“That’s the spirit,” Daichi says. “I know each one of you has some kind of special talent you can contribute to the greater good. Probably.”

Asahi sneaks a glance at Noya, who has his chin on the table and is doing his best impression of a beached whale staring at his ice cream. When Noya notices Asahi staring, he sticks out his tongue. It’s vivid blue. Asahi quickly looks away, feeling even dizzier than before. Just because Noya likes boys, he tells himself, doesn’t mean Noya would ever be attracted to him. Unlike Noya, Asahi has never told anybody about his… his preferences. He’s not sure he could ever be that brave.

Noya, on the other hand, is fearless. Noya is currently sporting a black eye from a fight he got into with a bunch of douchebags who called him a nasty name. From what Tanaka, who was there, says, nobody else was going to call Noya names any time soon unless they wanted their faces pounded in as well. Noya is small but scrappy, loyal to his friends but as vicious as a pit bill to his enemies. Asahi admires him so, so much.

And… other feelings too. Noya’s sexuality isn’t a huge surprise to him, not when he actually caught Noya making out with Uchiyama from Class 2C once, nearly suffering a heart attack in the process. But Noya, despite his brashness, is actually a fairly private person, and they hadn’t talked about it after, which Asahi respects, totally. It hasn’t stopped the daydreams, though, the embarrassing, hopeful, completely unfounded daydreams where Noya comes out to the entire team and maybe Asahi is a part of the reason why.

Asahi is the dumbest person on earth. Well, it happened, he tells himself. Noya came out and somehow did _not_ magically profess his undying love to his giant, awkward, often-really-sweaty teammate. How about that.

“Hey,” Noya says, nudging Asahi’s foot underneath the table while Daichi and Yamaguchi debate the merits of bake sales. “What’re you thinking?”

“Um, nothing,” Asahi says. 

“Yeah,” Noya says, “it’s too hot to think. You wanna come over to my house after and play some Street Fighter? I’ve got air-con at home. And more ice cream.”

Asahi nods. “Sure.”

He and Noya are friends. He’s not going to do anything to mess that up. What’s the point, anyway?

 

* * *

 

Asahi spends the weekend wandering around looking for a job. He has his phone in one hand with the classifieds open, and he keeps his eyes peeled for signs on shop windows. Unlike most of the other Karasuno boys, he’s worked part-time jobs before and has a resume that says something more than just “I play volleyball real good.”

He doesn’t want to go back to his old jobs, though. Being a dishwasher or a dog walker weren’t his ideas of a great time. If he has to take one for the team, then he’ll take one for the team and call one of his old bosses up, but he’s hoping there might be something else out there. Might be a kind soul willing to hire him even though he looks like a delinquent.

The first few places he wanders into are no good. Asahi’s got it in his head that he might want to try retail, but when they ask him if he’s ever worked a cash register before, or folded clothes, or set up displays, he has to scuff his sneaker to the ground and admit that no, he hasn’t. 

He’s leaving a convenience store not too different from Coach Ukai’s when he bumps into a group of high school girls. “Ah, sorry,” he says, and braces himself for the inevitable look of fear on their faces at seeing someone as big and scary-looking as him. But to his surprise the girls are barely paying him any attention.

“Ahhhh I’m so excited I got the new Ao Haru Ride tankobon,” one of the girls says. “I’m gonna go home and start reading it right away.”

“When you’re finished, let me borrow it,” another girl says. 

“Only if you lend me Kaichou wa Maid-Sama.”

“Done,” the second girl says.

They don’t notice Asahi at all. He waits until they’re gone and then looks at the store they just walked out of. He knows this store. It’s called Roses and Violets, and it sells shoujo manga and other cute shoujo-inspired accessories. The storefront is luridly pink, decorated with decals of cats and flowers, with a window display showing some of the most popular series published in magazines like Hana to Yume. He hesitates in front of it for a long while, clutching his resume like a lifeline, before pulling together all of his courage and going in.

The storeowner looks up. “Oh hello Azumane-kun,” she says. “The tankobon for Namaikizakari just came in. I’ve set a copy aside for you.”

“Hello Yoshida-san,” Asahi says. “Um. Ah. Thank you.”

“I heard you’re walking up and down the street looking for a job,” she says casually.

Asahi blushes.

“As it so happens,” Yoshida-san says, “I’m looking for part-time help. My daughter had a baby last year and is going back to work now, but her job has a lot of evening and weekend shifts. She needs someone to come in and watch her son. I want to help, but that means I need someone to come in and watch the shop.” She raises her eyebrows. “Does this sound like it might interest anyone you know?”

“M-maybe,” Asahi says. He looks around the shop. “But Yoshida-san, I’ve never worked in a shop before. Don’t you want someone more… experienced? And look at me! Don’t you think I’ll scare all your customers away? I’m so…” He doesn’t finish the sentence but come on, she must know what he means. When was the last time you walked into a girls’ store and found a guy running it, much less a burly guy like him? If you ignore his hair, there’s nothing feminine-looking about Asahi at all.

Yoshida-san’s eyebrows lift even higher. “What years did the Revolutionary Girl Utena anime air, and what were the main themes of the series?”

“W-what?”

“Answer that.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “The thirty-nine episodes of the main anime aired in 1997, and then the movie, Adolescence of Utena, came out in 1999. The main themes were, uh, childhood, illusions, adulthood, abuse, fairy tales, and loss of innocence.”

Yoshida-san smiles at him. “You see, Azumane-kun? You’ll do just fine.”

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t know you were such a big fan of shoujo manga,” Noya says.

The shop is empty right now, so it’s just him and Noya chatting. Asahi shrugs, hoping that shrug manages to convey everything he wants to say, from _I have three older sisters_ to _reading shoujo makes me feel safe and happy_ to _do you want to make out with me, Noya, but probably the answer is no_. 

“It just sort of happened,” he says. “Kind of like volleyball. I started being interested in it, and then I just never stopped. It’s a really cool genre.”

“I’m more of a shounen guy myself,” Noya says. “Bleach! Naruto! One Piece! More fights and explosions. That’s where it’s at.” He wanders around the shop and picks up a few titles. “I dunno. I don’t read a lot. But this stuff ain’t bad either. I can see why you like it.”

“Please don’t get the merchandise dirty,” Asahi says.

Noya grins at him wolfishly. Asahi’s heart immediately skips a beat.

“Can’t believe Yoshida-san lets you run the shop by yourself,” Noya says. “She must really trust you, man.”

“She trained me a lot these two past two weeks,” Asahi says. “And she gave me her cell phone number so I can call if I have any questions.” Roses and Violets isn’t too difficult to run, despite his initial misgivings. Nothing has broken down yet, and the girls who come into the shop are usually enthusiastic but polite -- in fact, Noya may be the roughest element to enter the store all year, with his dyed hair and his ripped jeans. He looks almost more out of place than Asahi himself.

“Nice pink apron,” Noya smirks.

“It’s the staff uniform,” Asahi says primly. He sort of likes it, and suspects that pink may be his favourite colour, not that he’ll ever admit it out loud. “So,” he adds, “how’s your job going?”

“Oh, got fired again,” Noya says. “Bummer.”

“ _Again?_ ”

“I guess I got too enthusiastic with the sports equipment?” Noya says. “Oh well! I think I’m gonna try working at the burger joint next. I like burgers. Everyone likes burgers. How can this fail?” He bounces up and down on the balls of his feet and then stretches. His shirt rides up to expose a strip of soft, pale skin. Asahi gulps.

“Daichi’s gonna be really mad when he finds out,” he says.

“Daichi can join the line and suck my dick,” Noya says. “Ha! Just kidding. You know I got mad respect for Captain Daichi, leader of us all. But, y’know, I’m not good at holding down jobs. Volleyball’s the only thing I’m really committed to.” He scrunches his nose. It makes him look adorable. “If I didn’t have volleyball, I don’t know what I’d have.”

“Yeah,” Asahi says softly. “Yoshida-san’s nice enough to give me shifts that work around practice. Because I’m not going to choose between the two.”

“Not all of us can find a great Yoshida-san,” Noya mourns.

But it’s true. Yoshida-san is remarkably patient with Asahi, explaining procedures and correcting his mistakes without ever making him feel bad about himself. She’s given him more responsibility and independence than anybody should rightfully give a clueless high school senior, and as a result Asahi really enjoys working in her shop. He likes it best when she’s around, puttering in the background doing inventory while he mans the register, but it’s not too scary when she’s not around either.

He’d been worried that his wasn’t the right face to represent Roses and Violets, but no one’s run away screaming just yet. Sure, he does get a few odd looks, and some of the girls drop silent when they see him behind the counter, and they start shuffling and mumbling and looking dazed, but for the most part the customers seem pretty cool with it. The girls of Roses and Violets are made out of sterner stuff, it seems, and once they figure out he actually does know what he’s talking about, some of the girls are even friendly.

“Hey Azumane-san,” Riko says. “I’m bored. Give me a recommendation.”

“Hmm,” he says. “What was the last good title you read?”

“I don’t remember, but it was about ghosts and stuff. It’s summer, right? Makes sense.”

He walks over to a shelf and pulls down a volume. “Have you tried Kimi no Todoke? It’s about a girl who looks like that girl from The Ring, and everybody thinks she can see ghosts and curse people. Then she meets an idol who’s interested in her. I read the first few chapters and liked it a lot.”

“That sounds cool,” Riko says. “Thanks!”

“No problem,” Asahi says. “Have a great day. Come again.”

 

* * *

 

Daichi updates the spreadsheet after their practice. He looks genuinely tan, no doubt from his fast food delivery job where he zooms around town on his bike, nearly knocking little old ladies off the sidewalk from how fast he pedals. “Good job, everyone,” he says. “We’re more than halfway to a new air-con system. And actually, Suga, Kiyoko, and I were talking…”

“We should keep fundraising to the end of summer,” Suga interrupts. “There’s lots of things the school doesn’t give us extra money for, but we could use. Like, funds for more out of town practice matches. Or new club jackets.”

Kiyoko nods and pushes her glasses up her nose.

“It’s too hot to think about club jackets,” Noya says. He’s lying on the gym floor with his socks and shoes off, and his t-shirt twisted around his torso. “It’s too hot to think about wearing any clothes at all.”

Asahi tries to quash that particular mental image. Now is not the time and place. It is unbearably hot, though, even with all the doors and windows open in an attempt to pick up a breeze like a thief trying to steal diamonds. He wipes the sweat away from his forehead and tries to concentrate on what Daichi is saying.

“Tsukishima, Tanaka, Yamaguchi, I’m putting you in charge of the car wash,” Daichi says. “Asahi, Nishinoya, Hinata, Kageyama, you’re organizing the bake sale.”

“Bake sale!” Hinata says happily.

“You’re not allowed to eat everything, dumbass!” Kageyama hits him across the head. “You gotta save some for the customers.”

“I wasn’t gonna!” Hinata protests, hitting Kageyama back. Asahi watches the two first years descend into a slap-fight, and he tries not to groan. Great. Babysitting duty, his favourite. The look Daichi gives him says this is exactly why he organized the teams this way.

“Good luck, slugger,” Daichi says, patting him on the shoulder.

“You’re the meanest person I know,” Asahi says, and Daichi just gives him a evil grin that none of their teachers ever get to see or else they wouldn’t always be saying things like _that Sawamura boy, so mature and responsible_.

Noya slides himself over to where Asahi is sitting, except they’re all so sweaty they stick to the floors, so it’s kind of a gross effort. But Asahi likes Noya so much that even grossness becomes attractive; it’s a type of hormonal witchery. “Hey,” Asahi says when Noya gets close. He tries to keep his voice easygoing and is only halfway successful. “How’s the burger joint going?”

“Burned both of my thumbs on the grill,” Noya says proudly, holding up his fingers for Asahi to inspect.

“Are you... okay?” Asahi asks.

Noya rolls his eyes and gestures at his legs and arms, covered in a cartography of libero bruises. “I’ll live. But they’re not letting me do burgers anymore. I have to do salads instead. Which is lame ‘cause who wants to order a salad at a burger place?”

“At least you’re not fired?” Asahi offers.

Noya throws his head back and laughs. Asahi loves the sound of his laughter, bright and loud and arrogant but in a way that makes you like him anyway. “Yeah, I still got the job,” Noya says. “I don’t mind this one. It’s easy, and…” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “there are some really cute guys who hang out there.”

Asahi blushes like a carnation. “Oh… are there…”

“Man, it’s like, now that everyone knows I’m open and available, they’re all coming out of the woodwork,” Noya says. “It’s definitely _not_ one in ten, if you know what I mean. It’s like everywhere I look: boom! Pow! There’s another one.”

“Ah um, well, I don’t really know?”

“Sorry, am I flustering you?” Noya grins. “It’s just so easy, I can’t help it.” He reaches over and pats Asahi’s hand. Asahi resists the urge to yank it away and hold his hand close to his chest, right over his rapidly beating heart. “Stay cool, big shoujo guy, you know you’ll meet the right person for you, someday.”

“Wait,” Asahi says, “does that mean you’ve met the right person for you, then?”

He knows Noya is popular. And Noya’s right -- it’s definitely way more than one in ten guys who seem to hang around the gym after practice, trying to get Noya’s attention. Asahi thinks that maybe they should just invent a new word for it. Noyasexual. The power of a tiny, honestly kind of slutty, fierce-as-hell libero whose milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. Asahi is happy for his friend because he knows all too well that staying in the closet sucks balls, and Noya looks a lot happier these days when he can bounce around from lovesick admirer to lovesick admirer without having to pretend he’s pining for Kiyoko instead. But maybe he’s met his special person and is ready to settle down? So soon? Asahi swallows hard.

There’s a hickey on Noya’s neck that everyone is politely avoiding talking about. Asahi does his best not to stare at it.

“Special one, huh?” Noya says. He lifts himself up to his elbows and rests his gaze on Asahi’s red face. “Yeah, I think I might have. Met that person already.”

“Oh.”

Noya leans closer. Even his sweat smells nice, Asahi thinks despairingly. “I--”

Asahi’s phone goes off. “It’s Yoshida-san,” he says, standing up and grabbing his duffel. “She must need me last minute at the shop. Sorry, I gotta go. We can talk later?” he says, and it ends up being a question that he doesn’t actually want an answer to, because no, he doesn’t want to talk about how Noya might be in love, that is literally the last thing he ever wants to talk about, he would rather be hit by a bus.

 

* * *

 

Before, if Asahi ever had reason to picture himself in a frothy pink shop surrounded by dozens of women demanding his undivided attention, he probably would have changed his name and moved to a foreign country with a paper bag over his head. But actually he feels energized, whipping back and forth to answer as many questions as he can, grabbing new stock from the back room, and reaching to the highest shelves to pull out the most inaccessible manga. Huh. Being tall _does_ come in handy.

It’s the Roses and Violets special tea party sale, and it is, not to put too fine a point on it, complete wholesale madness. Dozens of customers are crammed into an already small space, looking at the new displays he and Yoshida-san made and drinking oolong while nibbling strawberry shortbread biscuits. Yoshida-san has her daughter helping out serving the tea, with her baby son strapped to her chest blinking at the whole scene sleepily. Yoshida-san herself is running the cash register, which means Asahi has command of the floor, not that there’s very much of it visible beneath all the feet.

Normally this is not his sort of thing at all. Too many people, not enough air, and also he’s allergic to strawberries; they make his face swell up like two blimps parked in his cheek pockets. But Asahi is surprised by how well he’s managing this tea party sale. He’s definitely going to go home after this and sleep for a thousand years with his cell phone turned off, but in the meantime it’s _his_ carefully curated Sailor Moon display to celebrate the reboot of the series everyone is admiring so much, and it’s his help the girls want the most. It’s nothing at all like school or volleyball where he hangs out in the background and hopes no one pays close attention to him. Everybody here seems to want to talk to him, and miraculously he’s keeping his head above water.

Riko and her friends are here, meaningfully going through the sales collections. But some of the shyer girls at here too, the ones who normally get too tongue-tied at the sight of Asahi’s Asahiness to say anything to him. He smiles tentatively at them, hoping that his smile isn’t as ghoulish as he thinks it is -- and then, to his astonishment, one of the girls smiles back.

“Hi, I’m Mizuki,” she says, ducking her head and staring at the scuff marks on her shoes.

“Hi Mizuki-san,” Asahi says gently. “Is there anything you’re looking for? If you want tea and cookies, there’s some over there. We have plenty.”

“Um, um,” Mizuki stammers, “no, I’m all right.”

“Mm, okay,” Asahi says. “Let me know if that changes.” He moves on to help the next customer but can’t help but notice Mizuki’s eyes on him even as he moves through the shop. Does he have something stuck to his face, he wonders. Or, oh no, did one of his teammates place a kick-me sign on his back that he forgot to take off? He slaps his back feverishly, trying to find it, but there’s nothing there but the pink apron strings.

No idea why Mizuki is staring at him then. He tries to put it out of his mind, but as the afternoon goes on, it sticks up in his thoughts like the pointy end of a tack. It’s not just Mizuki staring at him either. It’s some of the other girls too. They come up to him, introduce themselves, blush until their faces turn bruised red, and then scurry away like they want to throw up. It horrifies Asahi a bit because no one’s ever had to literally vomit at the sight of him before, and he doesn’t want today to be the first.

Half past two it’s his turn to feel sick when the bell tinkles and another customer comes in. The sale has slowed down enough that the shop isn’t stuffed to the gills, and Asahi looks up from where he’s wrapping up a gift package for a customer. The automatic hello dies on his tongue, shrivels up in ribbons like a piece of dead fish, when he sees that it’s Noya. But not just Noya. Noya with Uchiyama from Class 2C.

“Asahi, my man,” Noya says, ambling up to the front. “How’s it going?” Uchiyama follows up looking around the shop in confusion like he’s an alien dropped from Mars who’s never seen shoujo manga in his life. Asahi hates him immediately.

“Hi,” Asahi says awkwardly. “Thanks for dropping by.”

“Duh,” Noya says. “Wanted to make sure you were still alive during your busy day. Hey, you’ve met Uchiyama before, right?”

“Yeah,” Asahi says, swallowing several other words down. Uchiyama looks at him and doesn’t try to say hello. Well, rude. But wait, Asahi didn’t say hello either. He makes himself utter it first, because Asahi’s mom raised him to be a gentleman. Uchiyama just shrugs.

Asahi raises his eyebrows at Noya. Noya shrugs too.

“I’m kinda disappointed, though,” Noya says. His voice turns mischievous. “I was hoping you’d be wearing a skirt to go with your apron.”

“I don’t think Yoshida-san has a skirt that would fit me,” Asahi says. “And I’m not going to wear a skirt just to satisfy your sick and twisted fantasies.”

Noya laughs his bright laugh. He runs a hand through his hair, and it’s a testament to how much gel he uses to style it because it sticks up the same way even after his fingers plow through. “Fine, fine, pure and innocent thoughts only. I’m _always_ pure and innocent, you know that.” Asahi makes a sound that may or may not be pure undiluted disbelief. Noya snorts. “Asahi, you’re the worst. Just nod and say yes when I tell you to.”

“Sorry,” Asahi says, “anyway, I should get back to work. Can I help you find any manga?”

“Yep,” Noya says. “It’s my sister’s birthday coming up. I bet she’d like some Sailor Moon.” Asahi leaves the counter and goes over to the display. Noya and Uchiyama follow him. For such a small guy, Noya takes up a lot of space when he walks, all elbows and gait. He’s not clumsy per se, or Asahi would be worried about bull in china shop syndrome, but he has presence. He slides right beside Asahi when Asahi starts showing him the collected Sailor Moon editions, so close that Asahi can feel the tremendous heat of Noya’s body even through his clothes.

“A-Asahi-san,” a voice calls out. Asahi looks over to find one of the other customers waving at him.

“I’m coming right over, Hana-san,” he says. “Noya, I’ll be right back.”

Hana is one of the blushing girls who makes Asahi feel like there’s a magnet on his face with how often she keeps looking at it. He helps her with some Haru Matsu Bokura, and when she starts talking about why she likes this series some of her shyness fades away and she looks happy. Asahi’s read the first volume, so they chat about it for a while. It’s nice. It keeps him from constantly glancing over at Noya and Uchiyama, wondering what they’re doing, what they’re thinking, whether or not they came here on a date or something as equally as depressing. Asahi’s almost eighteen and he’s never been on a date before.

He’s not a superhero, though. At one point he gives into the urge and shoots a quick glance in Noya’s direction only to find Noya staring back, Sailor Moon tankobon in his hands. Asahi whips his head back to Hana. Shit, he thinks. Totally caught there. But the look on Noya’s face wasn’t amusement or puzzlement or disgust or anything Asahi might have expected. With his lips pressed together and his brow low, it was more like Noya was unhappy about something.

Hana clears her throat nervously. “What’s your favourite kind of tea, Asahi-san?”

“The sugarier the better,” he says.

“Me too!” 

He cracks a smile. Hana ducks her head and smiles back up from beneath her lashes. From somewhere across the shop Asahi can hear someone dropping a book to the ground with a loud thunk.

 

* * *

 

If the tea party sale wasn’t as bad as he expected, the car wash is straight out of a page of Asahi’s nightmares. Mostly because Tanaka, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi shouldn’t be left in charge of _anything_ , not even taking care of a plant, and Daichi is quickly realizing his mistake by his anger meter going from mildly annoyed to darkly furious within the span of half an hour.

“The flyers have the wrong date printed on them,” he says, “and this is the wrong kind of soap, and where are we anyway, you can’t park a car here, it barely fits at all.”

“Don’t blame me,” Tsukishima yawns. “It wasn’t my decision.”

The pathetic incompetence of their kouhai sets Daichi and Suga into action, and they have no compunction about dragging Asahi in either. Daichi barks out orders and quickly they set to making things right, first to move the car wash to a more convenient location -- and Suga makes a few calls before they’re in the parking lot of his uncle’s diner right on the main street of town. Asahi gets sent to get the right kind of soap and wax, and Daichi orders the rest of the boys into some kind of military order. By the time Asahi gets back they each have their task.

“Here, it’s easy, let me show you,” Noya says when their first car arrives. He leaps on it and starts scrubbing energetically. “Just like that! Yeah Hinata, you’re doing a good job. Come on, Kageyama, put your back into it! Tsukishima, don’t be such a princess. Scrub harder! Get your hands dirty!”

“So noisy,” Daichi and Suga say in unison.

They make Asahi stand on the corner with Tanaka’s scribbled homemade sign. CAR WASH FOR VOLLEYBALL FUNDRAISER, PAY WHAT YOU WANT. Asahi waves it at every car passing by.

“You have to shout it at them too,” Suga says.

“I don’t want to shout at strangers,” Asahi says.

“Right, I’m asking the wrong person,” Suga says. “Nishinoya! Get over here!”

“What? What?” Noya says, popping over. His t-shirt is soaked with soap and water, and most of his shorts too, making them stick to his muscular thighs. Asahi gulps. 

“You need to help Asahi drum up some business,” Suga says. “Asahi’s ridiculously tall, so he can hold the sign, but Noya, you need to be the voice. You’re good at that.”

“Leave it to me,” Noya says confidently. He grins at Asahi. “You ready?” He doesn’t even wait for a response before he cups his hands around his mouth and starts bellowing at the top of his lungs, nearly toppling Asahi over. “CAR WASH, CAR WASH, GET YER AMAZING WORLD-CLASS CAR WASH HERE, ALL MONEY GOES TO FUNDING KARASUNO BOYS’ VOLLEYBALL TEAM.” 

“How do you have that much energy,” Asahi mutters.

“I dunno, how did you survive an entire day of girls being madly in love with you?” Noya says.

“What are you talking about? Girls aren’t -- god no,” Asahi says.

“Hey, I call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Noya says. “CAR WASH, CAR WASH, LET KARASUNO GET YOU SQUEAKY CLEAN.”

Asahi wants to ask _what about your boyfriend_ but it’s sour even as it tumbles through his mind and he knows there’s no way to say it without sounding needy and petty. New resolution: just because he can embarrass himself doesn’t mean he _has_ to. So instead he waves the sign and tries to smile at the passing cars. Between him and Noya, it works because more cars start pulling over.

They run brisk business for the first hour, even though Hinata keeps tripping over his own feet and Kageyama keeps scowling like someone shot his goldfish. It’s loud, raucous, and chaotic, even with Daichi and Suga running around trying to keep order. Thankfully they don’t wreck any of the cars, though Tanaka comes close once when his dog tags makes a tiny scratch on a Honda door -- Daichi nearly loses it and they end up giving that wash away for free. The lady who owns the Honda seems fairly easygoing about it, at least.

Business slows down in the second hour. Noya’s throat starts getting sore. Suga switches him out for Tanaka, as punishment for the scratch, and Tanaka takes up the curbside promotion. Noya goes back to washing cars for a while before getting the brilliant idea to climb his bike and start going up and down sidewalks passing out flyers.

“I have another idea,” Suga says thoughtfully. “Asahi, take off your shirt.”

“ _What?_ ” Asahi blurts out.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Suga says. “And there’s lots of women passing by.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Asahi says. “ _You_ take off your shirt.”

“Fine,” Suga says easily and shrugs out of his t-shirt. “Your turn.”

Asahi grumbles but does it because he’s a team player. He folds his arms over his chest and gives Suga an unimpressed stare. “There, happy?”

“Overjoyed,” Suga says. “Now stand over there and keep waving that sign.”

Holding the sign means Asahi can’t cross his arms over his chest. This makes no sense. This is embarrassing. Why does he have to do this? But it does, after a while, feel good, he has to admit. The sun is beating down right on them and his shirt was starting to get sticky, wet, and gross. At one point Suga hands him a bottle of sunscreen and he puts it on gingerly, just in time for Noya to come racing back on his bike. 

“Oi, guess what, your favourite libero got rid of all the flyers! KARASUNO FOR THE WIN. Asahi, look! I’m riding with no hands!” he says, and then catches sight of Asahi on the corner. “Holy shit,” he says, and falls off his bike.

“Noya!” Asahi says. “Are you okay?”

“Um,” Noya says, getting up. He looks okay; there are some scrapes on his arms and legs but nothing that triggers a sense of alarm. “Um, what’s going on?” He waves his hand to indicate Asahi’s general shirtlessness. Asahi blushes.

“Blame Suga,” he says.

“I -- uh -- abs -- I mean, yeah! Blame Suga, I’m totally gonna blame him,” Noya says. Oh dear lord, Asahi thinks, he has a concussion. He goes over to check up on Noya, but Noya bats him away, weirdly flustered. “I’m fine! You don’t have to baby me.”

“I’m not trying to baby you,” Asahi says. “I just want to make sure you’re not bleeding out of your brain.”

“There’s something wrong with my brain, all right,” he hears Noya mutter under his breath. But Noya isn’t looking at him. This entire time Noya’s eyes keep sliding off him like oil and landing on whatever object is closest instead. Well, that’s just confirmation that Asahi looks as dumb as he feels. Noya bites down on his lip, no doubt to keep from laughing out loud at Asahi’s face.

“I’m going to put my shirt back on,” Asahi declares.

“Oh,” Noya says, chewing at his thumbnail. “I guess. Yeah. Maybe that’s for the better.”

Ouch, Asahi thinks, but there’s no time to feel hurt; there’s another car pulling up to get washed.

 

* * *

 

“Asahi-san, do you think love is like in shoujo manga?” Riko asks him when the rest of the shop is empty.

He’s trying to arrange a bouquet of roses and violets on the counter of the shop. It’s giving him a hard time. Who knew flowers were so complicated? “I don’t know?” he replies. “I’m not, uh, an expert in love stuff.”

“You’re a total beginner, aren’t you?” Riko smirks.

“Hey!” Asahi says, even though it’s true. “I’m busy with volleyball and school and work and other stuff. There’s no time to date.”

“But don’t you think that when you meet the right person, you’d make the time?” Riko leans against the counter. “That’s the sort of thing they never talk about in shoujo, is it? That you can’t just _be_ in love and let nothing else matter, you’ve got this whole world around you.” She waves her arms. “Of other stuff, and that takes priority too.”

Asahi makes a humming sound of agreement.

“Like, would you ever quit volleyball for a boyfriend?”

Asahi squawks.

“Come on,” Riko says, rolling her eyes, “it’s no secret that you’re not into girls. Well, idiots like Hana haven’t figured it out yet, but whatever. It’s fine. It makes us feel safe around you, knowing that you’re not going to stare down our blouses.”

“Hooray?” Asahi says, because staring down girls’ blouses is not something that has ever occurred to him. 

“But would you?”

“What?”

“Ever quit volleyball for someone?” Riko asks.

Talking about emotions makes Asahi feel out of his depth. But the answer is: “I wouldn’t want to choose,” he says. “It’s not fair to make me choose.”

“That’s the thing, right?” Riko sighs. “Love isn’t fair! It’s not like in manga where if you’re good and kind and pure-hearted, love comes knocking at your door. In real life love is a battle.” She curls her fingers into a fist. “Love is a never-ending _fight_.”

“Uhhhh.”

“I’m serious, Asahi-san!” Riko says. “Let’s say there’s this adorable girl in your class who shares her math homework with you because you’re always forgetting to do yours, and she plays flute in the school band and has the voice of an angel, and every time you look at her your stomach goes kaboom, like there’s a landmine in there. But she doesn’t think of you that way at all!”

“That’s tough,” Asahi says sympathetically. “For this hypothetical situation. Which is obviously not hypothetical at all.”

“I’m so sad about it,” Riko moans, throwing herself over the counter like a beached whale. “What am I supposed to do? I think she has a _boyfriend_.”

“Have you asked her?” Asahi says.

“If she has a boyfriend? Damn, how do I even begin that conversation?”

“I don’t know,” he says, “but if you don’t ask her, you’ll never know. Because isn’t that what happens in shoujo all the time? People don’t talk to each other, and then they never knew they liked each other all along. They’re too busy getting confused.”

“It’s so _hard_ ,” Riko says.

“Yeah,” Asahi says, “it is.”

“And I can’t believe this advice is coming from you of all people,” Riko says, pushing herself up on one elbow. “You wouldn’t know if someone liked you even if they did come up to your face and say it.”

“I’m pretty sure I would know then,” Asahi says. “But no one has, has they?”

“Well, not in words,” Riko says. “But there are other ways of showing it too. Like, you know when you like someone and all you want to do is impress them? You do stupid things that make you hate yourself later just so you’ll look cool.”

Asahi isn’t really the impressive type, so he never tries to play on that. That’s what he’s about to tell Riko when he remembers that feeling on the court of everyone’s eyes on him, of Noya’s focused gaze, of the ball coming his way, and all he wants to do is to spike it hard with all the power that he’s got. Take on all comers, demolish every defense while Noya’s still looking. He looks down at his fist and flexes it. “I don’t know,” he says again. “But I wish love _were_ like shoujo manga. It’d be so much more straightforward, wouldn’t it? And everybody would have their happy ending.”

“Yeah, but if our lives were more like shoujo manga, _this_ would be the start of a perfect romance,” Riko says. “Ridiculously gorgeous boy meets not-too-shabby girl in cute shoujo shop. Boy and girl date, marry after high school, and have lots of babies while boy works a salaryman job and girl stays home to look after their family.”

Asahi shudders.

“I know,” Riko agrees. “Thank god we’re stupid hopeless queers instead.”

 

* * *

 

“Great bake sale for great justice!” Noya exclaims as they’re wandering the aisles of the grocery store.

Asahi laughs. “Don’t call it great -- for all we know, we could food poison everybody.”

“You’re such a pessimist,” Noya says. “It’s gonna be great, we’re gonna earn a million yen, and then we can all quit our summer jobs. Except you, because you actually like working at that shoujo shop, you weirdo.”

Asahi’s pushing the cart up and down the baking ingredients aisle. “I thought you liked the burger joint. There’s cute boys there.”

“Cute but so _boring_ ,” Noya says. “A few secret makeouts in the back alley by the dumpster and you’ve plumbed all the depths of their being.”

“It’s no crime to be boring,” Asahi says defensively.

Noya looks up from where he’s examining a box of baking soda. “Wait, do you think _you’re_ boring? Because that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re so _not_ boring you can put all the burger boys to shame. You’re like the most interesting person on earth.”

“Ha ha, no way,” Asahi says. “I’m so boring even my mom sometimes falls asleep talking to me.”

Noya grabs his arm. Asahi’s eyes widen. Noya’s grip is tight and unforgiving, and Noya’s eyes are hard with some unnamed emotion. “I hate it when you do this to yourself,” he says. “Acting like you’re not worthy of -- of whatever you want to be worthy of. Stop it, okay? You have tons of friends who all adore you, you’ve got nothing to feel self-conscious about.” He bites his lip at the last part, and lets go of Asahi’s arm.

“Sorry,” Asahi says.

“Just don’t do it again,” Noya says. He goes over to look at sprinkles. “Ohhhh don’t you think these would look good on cupcakes?” He starts throwing random packages of stuff into the shopping cart, and Asahi, the responsible one, makes sure to double-check each item to see if it’s something they actually need. He’s running numbers in his head about quantity and gets lost in his calculations, drawn sharply back to reality when Noya pinches him.

“Ow!” 

Noya’s smile is pure havoc. “Push me on the cart,” he orders, and before Asahi can stop him, he climbs into the cart to join all the flour, baking soda, and chocolate.

“You’re not a five-year-old,” Asahi protests, and Noya sticks his tongue out at him. Asahi means to argue it even more, but as always his defenses are distressingly weak when it comes to Noya and that particular smile. He sighs and gives the cart a single push. “Good enough?”

“Push me to the end of the aisle,” Noya says. “Fast.”

“You’re going to get hurt.”

“I won’t,” Noya says. “I promise.”

So Asahi does. He braces his feet on the ground and then takes off running, pushing the cart down the aisle while Noya whoops and hollers. He brakes hard at the end to avoid shooting Noya off into a display of canned water chestnuts. “Do it again,” Noya says breathlessly, and so Asahi turns the cart around and runs down the opposite end, the sound of Noya’s hellion laughter ringing loud in his ears.

“Your turn now,” Noya says, climbing out.

“What? No,” Asahi says. “I wouldn’t even fit in the cart.”

“Probably not,” Noya admits, eyeing the cart. “But you can stand on the end. Come on. Do it.” He starts shoving Asahi, and Asahi gives in, climbing carefully onto the back side of the cart and holding onto the metal bars. “Ready?” Noya asks him.

“I think I’m too heavy,” Asahi starts to say. “And I’m too tall -- you can’t even see past me -- ahhhhh!” He shrieks as Noya gives the cart a giant push.

It doesn’t move the cart all that far. Noya grimaces.

“See?” Asahi says.

“That was just a warm up push,” Noya says. He rolls up his sleeves. The look on his face is one Asahi has seen many, many times on the court, the one that says Noya would rather jump off a mountain than give up and admit defeat. Noya grabs the handle with both arms and takes off at a sprint. The cart starts moving faster and faster. Noya pants.

“I may be short but I’m just as strong as you are,” Noya says.

“I believe you,” Asahi says. “Now can I get off?”

In reply, Noya pushes the cart one last time in a burst of speed, and oops, this time they do go flying into the canned water chestnuts display. Tins topple onto Asahi as he goes flying, going pop pop pop. He ends up sprawled on the ground, dazed. “Oh shit,” Noya says, running over, but the store manager is running over too, and within a few minutes they’re kicked out of the store, Asahi nursing a bruise on the back of his head.

“That didn’t go so well,” Noya admits.

“You think?” Asahi says. 

But he can’t even be angry for too long, not when Noya looks up at him and says, “Let me buy you a popsicle, soda flavour.” They walk over to the convenience store next door and Noya buys two popsicles, giving one to Asahi as they sit down on the curb and eat them greedily under the midday weekend sun.

“We still need to get the stuff for the bake sale,” Asahi says, chasing a drop to the base of the popsicle.

“There’s another store a few blocks down,” Noya says. 

They eat in easy silence for while. Then Asahi says, “I don’t mean to make fun of myself all the time. I can hear myself say things, and I want to tell myself to stop, but it’s -- it’s a habit at this point. It just bubbles over before I can do anything about it.”

Noya turns to him. His lips have turned purple. 

“It’s like what Daichi says. I’m a goofball.” Asahi looks up at the sky. “Except when I’m on the court. I like it. It’s different then. People depend on me, and even though I sometimes let them down, I can also do things that no one else can, because of my power and my height. It feels good, and in those moments I know without a doubt that I’m important, that I’m -- I’m wanted.”

“You know I’m gonna tell you that you’re ridiculous,” Noya says slowly.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it,” Noya says. “But, hey, it’s tough. I get scared too.”

“You’re never scared,” Asahi says. “At least you never look it.”

“But, dude, I’m scared all the time!” Noya says. “What if I fail? What if I don’t make a good receive? What if it’s my fault the ball touches the ground and we lose the game?” He pauses. “I know I’m short and runty and not very smart, but none of that really matters, not when I’m a great libero. But to keep that feeling, I gotta keep on being a great libero. Never stop, never admit defeat. Or something like that.” He turns red and rubs the back of his neck.

Asahi stares, and incredulous warmth stretches beneath his skin and through his muscles and blood for Noya, for this amazing, big-hearted, fucking dangerous boy named Nishinoya Yuu, who he’s never wanted to kiss as much he wants to in this moment, and there have been moments where he’s wanted to kiss Noya so bad it made his palms sweat. Asahi wipes his palms on his shorts right now.

“We’re both gonna do great,” he says gruffly. “Today and tomorrow and all the way to Inter-High.”

“Of course!” Noya says. “Karasuno crows forever!”

What about after? Asahi wonders. When he graduates and they won’t have school or volleyball to keep them connected anymore. Will they ever see each again? He shakes his head -- silly thought, of course they’ll run into each other again. It’s not a large town. But will it be like this? Eating popsicles on the sidewalk while watching the wind spread across the distant farmland fields. A bittersweet feeling presses against Asahi’s chest; he holds onto the moment as long as he can, and Noya must know what he’s thinking because he leans closer and knocks their shoulders together companionably.

“I’m hungry,” Noya says. “I can get us free burgers.”

 

* * *

 

The new inventory arrives at Roses and Violets, twenty boxes piled in the back alley loading dock. Yoshida-san signs for them while the driver finishes his cigarette. Asahi gets out the heavy loading cart and stacks the boxes on them before grunting as he wheels everything inside. Then he takes a retractable knife and starts cutting through the tape, opening the boxes to see hundreds of glossy new tankabon and bubble-wrapped merchandise inside. 

He’s slower than he needs to be, unpacking the boxes, but Yoshida-san doesn’t comment on why Asahi needs to stop and read the backs of all the new manga. He loves the fresh new book smell and the heavily inked crispness of the pages underneath his index finger.

His calm is interrupted by a hurricane bursting through the doors, sending the bell on its chain jangling around wildly. “Rrrrrrrrolling thunder!” Noya says. “I’m here to help! Am I late?”

“I’m just unpacking the shipment. You really don’t have to come help -- you don’t even work here.”

“But I want to help,” Noya says stubbornly. “I even put it in my phone. Look: help Asai with Wednesday shipment after dinner.” He lopes over and peers over Asahi’s shoulder. “What’s this?”

Asahi tries to explain the plot of the manga he’s reading, and Noya nods along, but it’s obvious that Noya’s attention is wandering. Where coming to work after practice and dinner makes Asahi serene and kind of sleepy, the opposite is true for Noya, who has energy to burn. Asahi is tempted to tell him to just go home and maybe they can text later, but Noya looks so determined to help that Asahi doesn’t have the heart to say so. Also, he’s selfish. He likes having Noya around.

Noya starts unpacking the rest of the boxes. “Careful!” Asahi warns as he watches Noya rip through the cardboard.

Noya slows down, but it’s a false sense of peace. Two minutes later he hisses _fuck_ as the knife goes across his thumb. 

Asahi gets up and locates a Hello Kitty band-aid from the first aid kit in the washroom. He hands it over to Noya, who’s staring at his bleeding thumb moodily.

“Something wrong?” Asahi asks tentatively. “Besides the bleeding, which, duh, is wrong, but you seem kind of mad about something.”

“Just having a bad day,” Noya says, putting the band-aid on.

“Do you want to… talk about it?”

“No,” Noya says shortly. “Wait, okay. I think, possibly, Uchiyama broke up with me?”

Asahi’s mouth dries up. He flails around for something supportive to say, but Noya saves him by barreling right on. “Not that we were dating,” he adds. “Not really. It was just meeting up and messing around, and sometimes we’d grab food together and go to the arcade. We didn’t even introduce each other to our friends. It wasn’t a real relationship. I didn’t even _want_ it to be a real relationship.”

“You introduced him to _me_ ,” is the only thing Asahi can think of to point out. He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

“I guess,” Noya says. “But you’re different. You don’t count.”

Asahi’s chest squeezes tight. It’s nothing he doesn’t already know -- that Noya thinks of him like a friend, like a brother, like someone who doesn’t count -- but he nods anyway. “So you weren’t dating, but now that it’s over, you’re upset."

“Not about Uchiyama, not really,” Noya says, scowling at his injured finger. “More like -- other stuff.”

Asahi waits. If Noya wants to tell him, he’ll tell him, and if he doesn’t, then Asahi is going to be a good, patient friend and make him some tea and distract him with something else. There are, after all, lots of boxes to unpack.

It turns out Noya wants to tell him. “Have you ever wanted something so bad you feel like you’re gonna have a panic attack every time you come close to him. I mean, _it_ ,” he amends hastily. He doesn’t wait for an answer, and picks at his thumb as he talks. “It’s like Uchiyama was this band-aid. If I was with him, I didn’t have to think about other things. I didn’t have to _want_.”

Wanting hurts. Asahi knows this. Wanting bruises the bones and flattens the heart. He doesn’t know how to tell Noya this, though, not without giving too much of himself away, and Asahi already fears all his stupid, foolish feelings are painted across his face. Noya _must_ know by now, or at least find it very suspicious the way Asahi gets when Noya is near, with the awkward dialed up to ten and the constant blushing. It ain’t rocket science.

But this isn’t about Asahi’s inconveniently messy emotions. It’s about Noya, and how Noya is sad because some dumb boy was near-sighted enough to dump him. “Oi,” Asahi says quietly. “If Uchiyama wasn’t what you really wanted, then it was never going to work out anyway.”

Noya tilts his head back. “That’s pretty wise.”

“Ha.”

“Wow, does this make it my first big gay breakup?” Noya says. “I should celebrate it somehow. Go drinking? Steal a car? Get a tattoo?”

“D, none of the above,” Asahi says. “You can help me finish with these boxes.”

“That works too,” Noya says, and gets up on his feet.

 

* * *

 

It turns out he does get the tattoo. Because the universe wants to play Russian roulette with the cells in Asahi’s brain, apparently, the ones still managing to fire on all cylinders. Most of the other cells crawl into a corner and give up the ghost when during practice Noya leans over to pick up a volleyball. His shirt slips up, his already loose shorts slide down, and Asahi’s mouth opens and shuts like an elevator door.

“I can’t believe you did it,” he says.

“What?” Noya asks. He twists around and realizes what Asahi’s staring it. “Oh yup! Got a fake I.D., went over to Sendai where no one knows me, and done, easy peasy.” He touches the tattoo carefully. “It’s still kinda sore, but I’m using this special cream on it twice a day.”

Tanaka overhears. “Are you showing Asahi?” He comes over and slings an arm over Noya’s shoulders. Asahi suffers a pang of jealousy at how easy he makes it look, that kind of closeness. “Pretty geeky, isn’t it?” Tanaka says, “but, like, it makes perfect sense for our Noya.”

Geeky but perfect, Asahi thinks, sums it up. Noya’s tattoo is a small one, right on his hip where Asahi has never, ever thought about getting on his knees and running his tongue over, nope. A few strokes of dark ink now cyclone together to form the shape of a volleyball. Asahi wants to laugh out loud because duh Noya would get a volleyball tattooed somewhere permanently on his body, it was only ever a matter of time.

“This is just the beginning,” Noya promises, grinning. “I’ve got plans for my next tattoo already. I want a sleeve, right here like this, and then something on my back, and maybe my calves after.”

“You’re going to look like yakuza,” Asahi says.

“So?”

“It suits you. Makes you look wild.”

“Damn fucking right, I’m wild,” Noya says, and Asahi has the sudden realization that this gym, this school, this town is not enough to contain Noya forever. They’ve never talked about their futures, about their plans for what to do after high school, but holding back and making do isn’t something that’s even in Nishinoya Yuu’s vocabulary. Asahi can picture Noya getting better and better, one day playing for the national men’s team, going to the Olympics; can picture him traveling the world from game to game, sprawled out on expensive hotel sheets looking at glittering city vistas where fans call out his name.

“Asahi! _Asahi!_ ”

He looks up. Noya’s cocking an eyebrow at him. “You’re zoning out,” Noya says.

It’s not the last time he’ll say that during practice. Asahi can’t focus at all. He fumbles his receives and misjudges his spikes, sending the ball barely wobbling past the net. Daichi yells at him to pay attention, and Coach Ukai barks orders, but it’s just not his day. Kageyama sends him a frown of pity and Hinata looks nervous, which makes him feel guilty because he knows Hinata looks up to him as their team’s ace. Then again, he’s allowed to have a bad day once in a while. It’s only fair, right? He doesn't have to hold up the entire team anymore; he doesn't need to beat himself up over it, that's what they _said_.

Still, he blames Noya’s tattoo. Every time Noya leaps for the ball, or throws himself across the floor to make some breathtaking save, his shirt rides up and Asahi can see the ink gracing Noya’s skin. Where the rest of Noya’s body is covered in bruises, that little area on his hipbone is pale and flawless, and Asahi is a worthless pervert for leering at his teammates like this. He tries to stop. He _needs_ to stop. But the tattoo draws his eye every single time, and it dries up all the juices in his mouth.

When they’re done and milling around in the changing room, Noya snaps a towel at him. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Nothing." 

“You were a mess on the court, big guy. You weren’t with us at all.”

“I got a lot of other stuff on my mind,” Asahi says. He tries to change into a clean t-shirt as quickly as possible, wanting to minimize any time spent partly naked around Noya, who’s staring at him with that knowing, intense gaze. 

Then Noya snickers. “Nice shirt.”

It’s a Sailor Moon Crystal promotional shirt leftover from the store sale. Asahi ties his hair up in a messy bun and swipes any loose strands from his face.

“I didn’t even know those came in men’s sizes,” Noya says. “But it looks good on you. You’ve got real style. Did I ever tell you that? You always look a little bit different from other guys. Not _bad_ different,” he adds when he sees Asahi’s frown. “Good different! I can always find you in a crowd, and not just ‘cause you’re tall.”

“Okay,” Asahi says slowly.

“Uh,” Noya says, “you want to get some burgers again? Unless you gotta work tonight.”

“I don’t have to work,” Asahi says, “but I’m kind of tired. Maybe next time?”

Noya looks down. Asahi does too, trying to see what Noya’s distracted by, but then Noya smiles brightly with the sharps of his teeth and says, “Sure! No big deal. Offer still stands. You know, whenever you’re hungry. We can get our burgers free.”

“I remember,” Asahi says. He tries to think of something else to say, something that isn’t _greetings, platonic friend, would you mind taking off your shirt again so I can stare at your tattooed body some more_. “Bye,” is what he manages in the end, the full fruit of his intellectual labours, and he jogs off before he can make even more a fool of himself. He says goodbye to his teammates, and then he’s out the door and under the sun.

The jogging feels good. Now that he’s alone, it helps to cool his feverish brain. He decides to go for a full run that evening, up and down the river and through the shaded trees.

It’s almost, he thinks, the end of summer.

 

* * *

 

Daichi’s gone and done it. He’s officially ruined summer festivals. Which is a shame because Asahi normally loves summer festivals, loves wearing a yukata and eating ikayaki while watching fireworks. It’s one of his favourite times of the year. _Was_ one of his favourite times of the year, but now that Daichi’s said the words “kissing booth”, Asahi’s ready to flush the whole thing down the toilet.

Goodbye happiness. Goodbye dignity. It was good to know you, if only for a short while.

Noya and Tanaka are, of course, completely rolling with it. “I got lipstick!” Tanaka shouts, waving a shiny tube of something something above his head gleefully. 

“Dude!” Noya gives him a high five. When he sees Asahi’s doomed expression, he says, “Cheer up! It’s not like we’re kissing anyone on the mouth. It’s just a quick peck on the cheek, wham bam thank you ma’am.” He rubs his fingers together.

Tsukishima overhears. “Of course _you_ don’t care,” he says coolly. “You’d put your lips on anything.”

“Watch it, four eyes,” Tanaka says.

“Nah, Ryu, let him talk,” Noya says. “Tsukki’s just jealous ‘cause we’re not all mean-spirited virgins like him. Some of us are nice _and_ we get some.”

“Tsukki gets some!” Yamaguchi says, popping over. “Oops, I mean--”

“Shut up,” Tsukishima scowls but he’s blushing.

“Senpai, do you really think anyone’s gonna want to pay us for cheek-kisses?” Hinata asks anxiously. Noya’s face softens when he sees Hinata and pulls him in close.

“Listen up, Hinata-chan, I’m gonna share with you all my special seduction secrets, passed down from the ancients,” Noya says. “The girls'll be lining up in no time.” He glances over at their teammates and laughs. “Or guys. Whatever gets your motor going.”

Hinata goes mottled red. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Sure, sure,” Noya says cheerfully. “And this isn’t the gayest team I’ve ever been on. Look, there’s Daichi. I think he wants us to set up the booth now!”

Asahi drags his feet throughout the entire setup. He knows he’s being a schmuck about it, and can see the neon lights around his head that scream HEY THIS GUY IS A SWOONING VIRGIN DID YOU KNOW, but he can’t stop himself from frowning and moping and being a general nuisance. It doesn’t help that it’s humid, and his t-shirt sticks to his chest like a big fat tangle of seaweed. He wants to shrug it off but remembers the way Noya had looked at him last time, all weirded out. Instead, he undoes his hair tie and reties his bun over and over again until Suga jabs his arm and says, “You’re going to yank out all your hair.”

Evening falls. Their booth does not come crashing down. Its questionable structural integrity remains intact and they all go home to change into their festival gear. For Asahi it’s a yukata with white sails on a navy background. He ties his hair up in a high ponytail.

He does _not_ want to kiss anybody tonight.

Total lie, the little voice inside his head says. He wants to kiss someone _so_ bad.

His mom needs some help with chores before the festival starts, so he ends up running late. At first he doesn’t understand why there are so many girls milling around the booth as he arrives. They have a hungry, slightly feral cant to their faces, and he recognizes many of them as customers from Roses and Violets. Oh look, there’s Hana and Mizuki, each clutching one of the blue kissing booth tokens in their hands. They see Asahi and their eyes widen like radishes.

Then he notices the guys. The small crowd of guys isn’t as obvious as the girls, mostly because they’re lurking uncomfortably, trying not to draw any attention. But they’re all circling Noya, who’s sitting on a stool with a beatific smile, and shit, of course all the gay boys would be out for Noya’s kisses, of course one of them would wander by and literally step all over Asahi.

“Hey,” Asahi says, pulling the edge of his yukata from underneath someone’s feet.

“Sorry,” the guy says, and obviously he’s not sorry at all. Obviously he’s a predator in the wild out to eliminate his competition all in the hopes of conquering--

Asahi grits his teeth. He feels the same as when he’s in the middle of a match watching the setter toss the ball in his direction. It’s an animal feeling, his tissues and muscles primed for action, adrenaline lighting up the hollow spaces in his head. Daichi and Suga both turn in amazement as he walks past them and takes his place on his stool, his face outwardly stony as he says, “I’m ready to start.”

“Uh,” Suga says. “Hana-chan? You're up.”

Asahi gets the most visitors of the night, according to Kiyoko who keeps track on her clipboard. He can see his teammates staring at him in awe and also confusion, because clearly they'd been expecting the terrified version of Asahi without remembering that he's been working in a store of mostly women for months now. He treats this like a business transaction, doesn’t wear any lipstick, just kissing girls chastely on the cheek. The girls are all quite nice about it, asking if it’s okay and apologizing for their brashness. After a few go-arounds he finds he doesn’t even mind, not truly, because kissing these girls is like kissing his cousins at family reunions. Some of his visitors even want to talk manga, which he’s happy to do, and a handful of girls like Riko come by and make him laugh out loud with their sly, irreverent comments, because they completely realize how ridiculous all of this is, and hey, it's for a good cause.

He relaxes. As long as he doesn’t have to pay attention to Noya’s side of the booth, he’s fine. He gets the feeling once or twice, though, that someone’s watching him. Whenever he turns to look Noya’s always looking in the other direction, talking to one of his many admirers. 

I don’t care, Asahi tells himself. I’m the _king_ of not caring sitting on my not caring throne.

But when Noya finally sidles over during a break, he doesn’t look like any of the things Asahi had expected. He doesn’t look like someone fearlessly kissing the numerous boys of Karasuno who adore him. Noya’s staring down at the ground, and his brow is furrowed with his shoulders slumped, and when he lifts his eyes to look at Asahi and say “hey,” Asahi realizes that Noya doesn’t look happy at all. Noya looks devastated.

“Are you okay?” Asahi asks immediately. “Are you sick?”

“Can I talk to you over there?” Noya asks. 

Over there turns out to be a cluster of trees at the end of the park. There’s the suggestion of privacy, of a quiet place set apart from the sounds of music and food vendors. Noya’s wearing a yukata of his own, plain and black with an almond sliver hint of yellow trim. It’s a bit loose on him, however, and shifts around often enough that Noya is constantly adjusting the fit, affording Asahi a glimpse of pale collarbone, which makes him stumble. Noya instantly reaches out a hand to steady him.

“So what’d you want to talk about?” Asahi asks. “Because I think we need to get back soon. There’s another lineup already.” 

“I know,” Noya says shortly.

“Do you think if we hurry, we can grab some dango on our way back?” Asahi muses. “I love dango.”

Noya clenches his hands in fists. “Who cares about dango!” The scrape of his voice makes Asahi freeze. “You… you…”

There are moments as delicate as steam and just as painful to touch. It occurs to him that this may be one of those moments, the time come at last where he can’t hide himself from Noya -- if he ever has at all, because Noya knows him better than even Daichi and Suga, better than anybody when you get down to it. There's no use in lying. Asahi coaches himself to do that one thing he’s never been good at his entire life. He stands up straight and makes himself be brave. Whatever Noya wants to tell him, he can take it.

What Noya says next throws him off entirely. “If I bought a token,” he says quietly, still with his fists in balls, “would you kiss me too? Even though I’m not a girl.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Noya says, “thought not.” He starts to pivot, ready to head back to the kissing booth, except then he stops. He looks at Asahi for a long time, a moment where Asahi holds his breath until it hurts, he’s so tense. Then Noya shakes his head, mutters “fuck it” and rises up on his toes so that his mouth is touching the corner of Asahi’s.

His mouth. is touching. the corner of. Asahi’s. mouth.

Asahi’s been kissing dozens of people this evening, so theoretically should have this whole kissing thing down to an art form, except this isn’t mechanical cheek-kissing. This is Noya kissing him so softly on the mouth that Asahi wants to melt down to the marrow of his very bones. It’s sensation overload. Noya’s hair scratches his cheek, Noya’s breath is warm on his chin, and Noya’s lips are dry and chapped and courant red with lipstick. Asahi’s sure he’s going to get a face full of lipstick stains by the end of this, and everybody is going to know exactly what they were doing in this private grove that is 100% a makeout spot now that he thinks about it, but he doesn’t give a damn.

He rests his hands on Noya’s hips, right where he knows the tattoo is, and listens to the way Noya’s breath shivers. Asahi opens his mouth and kisses back. He wants everything, he thinks wildly. He wants to do all the things teenage boys do to the people they like. No, not _people_. Be specific, Azumane. _Noya_. He wants to feel Noya’s compact body against his just like this, wants to protect him and support him and fight his battles, be his stalwart soldier, the one who stays by his side and patches his wounds, and at the end of the day gets to see his smile.

And he wants to kiss him. Oh god, he wants to kiss him. Oh god oh god oh god, he _is_ kissing him, and kissing him kind of hard now, like they’re making out? Asahi wants to die, he’s so happy.

Noya pushes him backwards until Asahi’s back is up against a tree. Noya runs his teeth over the cords of Asahi’s throat and bites down experimentally, making Asahi groan. Asahi pulls him closer and kisses him again with a fervor that feels like madness. He’s fully aware that his stubble must be scratching Noya’s face something awful, but Noya doesn’t seem to mind. Noya seems to _want_ it, panting heavily every time he pulls his mouth away from Asahi’s, which isn’t all that often because who would ever want that, ever.

Noya bites Asahi’s bottom lip and follows it up with a leonine flick his tongue. Then while Asahi is blushing and shaking and also without a doubt, hard, Noya stands on his toes as tall as he can and presses a kiss to Asahi’s nose.

They can hear Tanaka flailing about in the distance, shouting, “Noya! Asahi! Where are you guys?”

What now? Asahi thinks. What now, what now, what now.

 

* * *

 

Nothing changes.

Asahi should be grateful about this, that he hasn’t ruined one of his best, truest friendships with spontaneous groping against unsuspecting trees. It was probably just the summer heat, he tells himself, or maybe too much dango, because after the festival is over things go back to normal. Noya doesn’t bring up the kissing, and if Noya wants to pretend like nothing happened, then okay, Asahi isn’t going to argue.

He’s going to hug his pillow at night and curl up with his knees to his chest, but he’s not going to argue.

Noya invites him to get burgers again few days later. Asahi is frankly, sick of burgers, which he never liked much in the first place, but this is a normal thing that friends do, and he wants to be a good friend to Noya.

Good friends go out to dinner together.

Good friends order cheeseburgers with a side of onion rings.

Good friends eat burgers while listening to Noya talk about his new horrifically violent and therefore very cool video game that he’s been playing.

Good friends do _not_ think lewd thoughts about their friends’ lips or how cute they look when they start expressing their earnest appreciation of beautifully rendered 3D explosions.

“You should come over and play sometime,” Noya says. “It’s got a great multiplayer mode and some sweet terrains.”

“Uh huh,” Asahi says, his thoughts a million miles away. “Sounds good.”

“No, for real,” Noya says. “Come over after this and I will _kick your ass_.”

That’s what they end up doing. After they pay for the burgers -- or rather, Noya pays and won’t let Asahi get out his wallet at all -- they walk the long way around to Noya’s house. It’s a gorgeous night, one of the last crisp nights of summer, and Asahi doesn’t mind at all that Noya doesn’t seem too impatient to get home. They take the route by the river while Noya talks about a fishing trip he went on recently with his uncle and how much he caught, and how it was so impressive his uncle started calling him Fisherman-sensei. He gesticulates manically as he talks, and it’s so very Noya that Asahi laughs.

Noya always has something he wants to talk about. He can fill up a silence like sugar candies in a jar. They switch gears from fish to their teachers to zombie apocalypses to the best way of fixing Noya’s bike. Briefly, while they’re crossing the riverbend, they get into a debate about whether or not 8-bit Pac-Man is the coolest retro video game of them all. Then, of course, they talk about volleyball, and both Noya and Asahi can talk about volleyball for hours, which they more or less do, because by the time Asahi remembers to be aware of time, the sun’s already set.

“Might be too late to come over to my house,” Noya admits. “My mom’s probably already asleep.”

Asahi tries to hide his disappointment. “Maybe next time then.”

“Yeah,” Noya says. “We could… do this again?”

“Probably not on a Friday though,” Asahi says without thinking. “Isn’t Friday usually a date night for you?”

Noya _looks_ at him, impatient and exasperated but somehow still fond, and then Asahi gets it.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“Like, do I have to beat you over the head with it?” Noya says. “This might not be your shoujo romantic fairy tale, but I’m trying my best here.”

Of course. Burgers. Video games. Soda-flavoured popsicles. It’s like staring at a complex multi-part equation in algebra class and then realizing that no, it was actually just a basic addition problem all along if only he'd thought to look.

“The part where I got jealous and threw myself at you in the middle of the summer festival might’ve been a clue too,” Noya adds, and Asahi covers his face with his fingers and laughs. 

“Sorry,” he says, “sorry, sorry, sorry,” as Noya reaches out and takes one of Asahi’s hands. Noya’s smiling at him, sweet and still uncertain, the latter of which makes no sense because Asahi is a sure thing, has always _been_ a sure thing. But Noya swallows hard as he twines his fingers with Asahi’s, and Asahi can’t do anything but smile dumbly and duck his head.

“Never mind,” Noya says, “I take it back. This is pretty fucking shoujo.”

“Sorry,” Asahi laughs.

Noya grins and smacks his shoulder with his free hand. “Oi, are you gonna say anything other than ‘sorry’? Because good thing I didn’t fall for you based on your conversation.”

It’s on the flat of Asahi’s tongue to ask why Noya did fall for him, but he doesn’t, because there’s a chance one day that Noya will tell him anyway. Asahi shivers at the thought, pleasure and embarrassment prickling the hairs on his skin. He takes a deep breath and looks Noya in the eye. “I work next Friday,” he says. “But maybe you could come by after, and we could do something. Together.”

You can be as brave as mountains, Asahi thinks, and sometimes it’s worth every moment. Because the corner of Noya's mouth twitches, and he holds their hands together even tighter as he tugs him down the path that marks the beginning of the way to Asahi's house. They don't have far to go, and it feels like the next time Asahi dares to blink Noya is walking him up to the door while his heart beats thick and sticky like butter between his ribs.

“Friday then?” Noya says, watching Asahi fumble with his keys. He’s smirking, enjoying every second of this, Asahi knows, and for once Asahi doesn’t mind that he’s acting like a fool in front of Noya, because Friday, Friday, _Friday_ , and he has no idea how he’s going to wait that long.

Pretty fucking shoujo, he thinks as he finally manages to unlock his door, but not before letting Noya dart forward and kiss him on his cheek, a kiss that's quick and lovely from a boy who's all sorts of trouble, a kiss for which Asahi doesn’t charge him a thing.

 

* * *

 

At the end of the summer Hinata’s dad comes and installs the new air-con for the gym.

It’s a good flat surface for making out against, among other things.


End file.
